Lessons in Love
by Dashti-the-dramione-shipper
Summary: When Hermione Granger is offered her dream job teaching at Hogwarts, she jumps at the chance. However, her enemy, Draco Malfoy, has also accepted a post there. How will she deal with the psychological afteraffects of the war and the tension his presence brings to the school?
1. chapter 1

The humid air filled Hermione's lungs as she took a deep breath before Apparating. She braced herself, and one crushing, disorienting moment later, she strode down Hogsmeade's Main Street, her head filled with swirling thoughts.

Signs called at her, promising "Better bargains!" and "Buy two, get 10 knuts off!" However none of these start of term deals, nor the bustle all around her, roused her from her reverie. Confusion dimmed the usual excitement that attended a new school year. Since she had already finished her time at Hogwarts, she was at a loss to understand why Professor McGonagall had wanted to meet with her so urgently. She had readily agreed, however, as she was eager to see her favorite professor again. Post-war cleanup and rebuilding had kept them both in a whirlwind until today.

Hermione shook her head as if to clear away the thoughts cluttered there. She quickened her stride and left behind Hogsmeade's crowded street. She held her breath as Hogwarts' towering spires came into view. The familiar feeling of home settled upon Hermione, and she smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

Hogwarts' large oak doors creaked as they swung open. Hermione stopped to take a deep breath, and walked through into the castle. She paused for a moment to let a group of Hufflepuffs pass her, and took the time to look around the stone chamber. She smiled slightly as she recalled memory upon memory that had taken place in the hall where she stood. After the group passed, she made her way up the the marble stairs and on to the changing staircases.

While she could have flooed, she had decided to face the castle before she met with McGonagall. She had to do it sometime, Hermione figured. She had debated with herself fiercely about whether or not she would even come. Though she greatly admired the venerable old professor, Hermione could not quite feel at ease with returning so quickly to a place that had hosted such great tragedy. Her heart ached as darker memories than those earlier, happier ones rose unbidden to her mind. Stopping on the stair and shutting her eyes tightly, she tried to force herself to push away those awful flashbacks.

Lost in her own mind, she didn't notice the small group of students behind her, looking at her curiously.

"Excuse me, can we get through?"

Hermione jolted out of her retrospection and turned, surprised, to let the students pass.

"Miss? Um...are you...okay?"

Hermione started, and then she spotted the youth that had inquired after her well-being.

"Yes, I'm fine," she replied rather harshly. The boy stiffened with recognition of the war hero, and hurt that she would brush him off so brusquely. Noticing the hurt in the boy's wide, innocent eyes, she asked, "What year are you?"

"This is my first year," the boy said somewhat nervously. Hermione felt a twinge of sympathy for the small newcomer and smiled at him.

"That's great! First year was one of the best years I had at Hogwarts," she said, attempting to assuage whatever fears he might have about starting at Hogwarts.

"I'm sure you'll have a great time."

The first year looked at her gratefully. "My name's Jasper. I-I'm a Slytherin." He almost whispered the last part, clearly fearing that she would hate him for his house, the house that had caused her so much pain. Hermione frowned. She didn't like to see someone as caring as Jasper fearing rejection for something he couldn't help. Not to mention the fact that she had never held much with house rivalries, advocating more for inter-house cooperation.

"Well, Jasper, my name is Hermione. I hear they put people in Slytherin who are smart and know what they want to do in life." Hermione hesitated, then came to a decision. "Can I tell you a secret?"

Jasper's eyes widened as he nodded quickly. Hermione leaned down to his level and whispered, "The Sorting Hat very nearly put me in Slytherin, so I have a soft spot when it comes to others sorted there."

Jasper looked at her in surprise. He hadn't expected to find a sympathetic ally in someone he'd expected would hate him. Hermione straightened and looked surreptitiously at her watch. She would be late for her meeting. Turning back to Jasper, she said, "I have to go, I have a meeting with Professor McGonagall. It was nice to meet you, Jasper! I hope you enjoy your time at Hogwarts." Jasper started back up the stairs. Hermione hesitated again. "And Jasper," she called. The boy turned back. "Thank you. For...for asking." Jasper gave a small smile and then ran back up the steps.

Hermione breathed deeply and started towards her professor's office. She had barely taken a step towards her destination, however, when she heard a low, familiar voice sneer, "What have we here? Hermione Granger, the great war hero, associating with Slytherins. How _low you have sunk."_


	3. Chapter 3

Hermione whipped around at the sound of his voice. Him. Her mouth dropped open at the sight of his tall, blond figure. She couldn't for the life of her understand what he was doing there, in the very same castle that he had plotted to destroy nearly two years ago. He had shown his true colors then; he had taken sides. Why, then, was he waltzing through the castle like he owned the place? Draco Malfoy smirked and shoved his hands into his robe. "Cat got your tongue, Granger?" Hermione felt a flare of anger. She snapped her mouth shut and scowled.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Hermione spat.

"Now, now, Granger, be civil. You wouldn't want to step on my toes," he said with a sly grin.

"Why on earth would I care about offending you, Malfoy?" As Malfoy opened his mouth to reply, Hermione interrupted him. "You know what? I don't care about anything a _Death Eater_ like you has to say. Haven't you done us enough harm?" A flicker of something indiscernible crossed Malfoy's stone features at that. "Just leave me alone." Wild hair flouncing as she stalked off, she was now frightfully late for her meeting, but she couldn't find it in her just then to care.

"Miss Granger, how are you doing? Please, come in," Minerva McGonagall ushered Hermione into her office.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, Professor," Hermione apologized. "I ran into a few...obstacles on my way here." Hermione's face flushed, an outward sign of her inward indignation at Malfoy's intrusion into her life. "If you can believe it, I met _Draco Malfoy_ on the stairs, and he had the audacity to be arrogant with me! I mean, after everything he did, all the people he...hurt," Hermione's voice trembled a little then, "you'd think he might have some small semblance of shame. He even told me not to offend him, as if that would have some big impact on my life. Like I would care if I did! After everything, he still..." She noticed a look on McGonagall's face that she couldn't quite read, but had some resemblance to... _shame_? Hermione stopped herself. "I'm sorry, Professor. I got carried away, and I was already late. Please, what was it you wanted to meet about?"

McGonagall shifted uncomfortably in her seat then, and Hermione frowned. Her old professor hardly ever showed discomfort like this. She was usually strictly business.

"Professor? Is everything all right?" Hermione asked hesitantly.

"Well, Miss Granger, part of what I wanted to discuss with you is young Mr. Draco. However, we will put that aside for the moment." Hermione looked disgruntled at this, but respectfully remained quiet.

"Firstly, I wanted to discuss a business offer with you, one which I think you will find rather agreeable. As you know, my title as Deputy Headmistress requires that I fill the recently vacated position as Headmistress at Hogwarts. However, that leaves me with an empty position teaching Transfiguration.

"I asked to meet with you, because I would like to see _you_ fill that empty position, Miss Granger."

Hermione's mouth fell open. She couldn't believe it. Teaching at Hogwarts, at just 18? She would be barely older than the seventh years! It was what she had dreamed about, teaching here, but she hadn't expected to have the opportunity so soon. And that was second to whether she was even good enough. Most teachers had years of experience and were masters in their fields before being offered a position at Hogwarts. Sure, she was top of her class at Hogwarts. And a small voice told her that she had had plenty of practical experience while moving around during the war, but she pushed that thought aside. So what if she was young, that small, strong voice said inside her. It's what she had always wanted, and didn't she deserve it, after everything? She had always figured out everything life had thrown at her, and wasn't this something worth the challenge? Hermione was interrupted from her churning thoughts by McGonagall's voice.

"Miss Granger, before you decide anything, there is something else you must know." McGonagall hesitated before continuing. "I feel compelled to tell you that...that Mr. Malfoy will also be teaching here this year."


	4. Chapter 4

A/N: Hello everyone! (Are there even enough people reading this to say everyone?) I realized that I haven't put a note in here yet, so here goes :) this is my first story (yay) so that, coupled with the fact that I am not fantastically gifted with story composition, means that in all probability, this story will not be one for the ages. I also have no idea how often I'll be updating. That being said, I am excited to see where this story goes! Premature thanks to my bff, katie (wish her luck on her 9 hour shift today!) and sister, greeb for wanting to read and putting up with my obnoxious questions :)

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Hermione blinked. All the thoughts she had had a minute ago that she couldn't have stopped for anything now ground to a complete halt. Professor—no, Headmistress—McGonagall watched Hermione with concern. That concern bordered on alarm when Hermione remained silent for several minutes, staring at the same spot on the wall and not moving.

"Miss—Miss Granger? Are you all right?"

Hermione snapped out of her trancelike state and gazed at the headmistress. From the blank space in her brain she pulled out one question.

"How could you let him teach here?"

The headmistress looked at Hermione with a mixture of guilt, sympathy, and regret.

"Miss Granger, I can understand your grief. I, myself, was very much against permitting his particular talents to serve here, especially not so soon after...well, after everything. However, there was little I could do. As a minor, his crimes were not severe enough for the Kiss." McGonagall shot Hermione a glance. "I am not sure whether you are aware that he supplied information leading to the capture of several rogue Death Eaters after He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named fell." Perhaps hoping that Malfoy's help in capturing other such followers would soften her hatred for her enemy, McGonagall cautioned a smile at her former pupil.

The teacher was mistaken, however. Hermione scowled deeply.

"So what, he's a double agent?" At this, Hermione scoffed. "He couldn't just pick the side that had his parents hostage and stay with it? _That_ I could at least understand, even if I would've acted differently. He just _has_ to be on the winning side, no matter what his convictions are. And that's assuming he even has any! All of his miserable life, his father and his father's father's prejudices have dictated with whom he associated, upon whom he spat," Hermione sat up a little straighter, "and, ultimately, in matters of life and death, with which side he allied himself. Draco Malfoy has never had an independent thought in his life, nor has he ever wanted to. He's been content with sitting back and letting the "grown-ups" control his small, pathetic life. Never did it occur to him to actually grow a spine and make his own decisions, or to come to his own worldview. And that, Headmistress, is why I hate him."

McGonagall sat back in her chair, lost for words. This added more complexity to Hermione's already multi-faceted character than she had yet seen. And that was saying something, considering all that the old professor had seen the young witch go through in her time at Hogwarts. She had so felt for the little girl, trying to work through a world that she was intrinsically part of, but somehow alien to. Add to that her overachieving nature and friendship with Harry Potter, around whom danger always seemed to lurk, and McGonagall was astounded at how well Hermione Granger had grown up. Here she was, judging someone not only based upon their actions, but also taking into account the content of their character. McGonagall was interrupted from her thoughts by a soft cough. Starting, the headmistress refocused on the conflicted witch in front of her.

"Headmistress, I still don't understand why he has to teach here," Hermione asked with a touch of desperation breaking through her voice.

McGonagall sighed. "As I said earlier, at the time of his crimes, or at least the ones we know of, he was underage. Because of this, he could not have the Dementor's Kiss administered. He additionally reduced his sentence with the capture of several dangerous Death Eaters from his information. Mr. Malfoy was then given a choice: he could spend three years in Azkaban, or he could sign a magically binding contract to teach ten years at Hogwarts."

Hermione stopped her there. "But why would you _want_ him? And for _ten years?_ " she asked, almost pleadingly.

"Since the war, there have been several positions open after their previous occupants...well, the posts are open, and there simply aren't enough qualified people to fill them. Many who would fit the role nicely are just not willing to risk it."

Frowning, Hermione asked, "Headmistress, what do you mean, 'risk it'?"

McGonagall shook her head in disapproval. "An almost unheard of superstition is quickly becoming widely known, and almost as widely believed."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. The headmistress rolled her eyes.

"It is utter nonesense, but after the war, people are more susceptible to potential 'threats'. They believe that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, before his death at the hands of The Golden Trio," here she nodded at Hermione, "placed a—a curse, of sorts,—akin to the one believed to have been cast on the Defense Against the Dark Arts position—on anyone who would take up a teaching position at Hogwarts, the only place over which he never truly had power."

Hermione's eyes widened. She opened her mouth, and burst out in gales of hysterical laughter. After everything today, this was too much.

"So, let me get this straight, Headmistress," Hermione choked out. "You want me to—one year after graduating, which I never really did, by the way, I was a bit busy saving the world—," here, McGonagall looked down at the floor embarrassedly, "teach a subject that is intensely difficult to master, to students up to only one year younger than me, and alongside other professors three times older than me on average. Oh, but that's all okay, because I'll have my trusty _mortal enemy_ by my side." Hermione narrowed her eyes and McGonagall flinched.

"Are you done, Miss Granger?" McGonagall asked stiffly. Hermione leaned back in her chair, looking slightly abashed.

"Yes, Headmistress. I'm sorry, I'm just a little overwhelmed."

McGonagall sighed. "Everything you have said is true. I do not know what I can say to convince you, other than the fact that we need you, put simply. The students need a teacher, and I have great faith in your capabilities. While I know it is a lot to ask of you, to be on staff with the same man who tormented you and brought destruction to your doorstep, I don't know what else to do." Defeat slipped into her voice, and Hermione was struck with pity for the old woman, who now looked truly ancient. Hermione felt uncomfortably guilty for not agreeing right away, and for putting her old professor in a tough spot, but Hermione just couldn't imagine what it would be like to work side by side with _Malfoy._

McGonagall, not having any ideas, just sat there. Hermione was her last hope. The new term was already started, and she was stretched to breaking point with her classes on top of her new duties as headmistress. She was about to concede defeat and thank Miss Granger anyway for coming, when Hermione sighed and spoke up.

"I'll—I'll do it," Hermione forced out. At the look of elation on McGonagall's face, she raised a finger. "But," McGonagall's face fell, "I have a few conditions."

"Anything," the headmistress answered immediately.

"One, I wish to have as little interaction with _him_ as possible. He will stay away from me at all times unless there is something absolutely dire regarding a student that he must speak with me about. Two, if one of my students complains about his teaching, or if even a _whisper_ of favoritism or unfair discipline reaches my ears, he will wish he'd never been born." McGonagall frowned at that. "And," Hermione added, "I will not be held responsible for any consequences I could see fit to administer, nor will I deal with what is left of him after I am finished."

McGonagall opened her mouth, perhaps to contest a nuance of condition number two, but something in the fierce look on Hermione's face, coupled with the determined way she folded her arms and leaned back in her chair, stilled the old witch's words in her mouth before she even formed them.

The headmistress nodded grimly. "I accept your terms."

Hermione got to her feet, extending her hand.

"Oh, and you would also be accepting the position as Head of Gryffindor House," McGonagall said quickly, hoping it would not be too much for the witch and negate the deal. Hermione heaved a huge sigh and closed her eyes.

"What's one more thing?" Hermione added wearily.

McGonagall rose, trying and failing to conceal a brilliant smile while accepting the proffered hand.

"Congratulations, _Professor_ Granger. You begin tomorrow."


	5. Chapter 5

A/N: hey peeps, tis I, the author (hah author lol) I am thinking about trying to write from Hermione _and_ Draco's point of view. I'm undecided, though, as this is my first foray into writing, and describing a guy's POV makes me nervous in regards to accuracy (having never been a guy, I wouldn't really know how they tick). Let me know if you think I should risk it, or, as they say, just write what I know. Good news, got a vacay coming up, (aforementioned bff katie survived her shift so she will be there so yay) so more writing! Anyway, back to the story. OH, I almost forgot, the past few chapters I forgot to put a copyright thing so here it is: I do not own Harry Potter.

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A dangerously bright, orange spell flew over Hermione's head and she dropped to the ground. The spell missed her by inches, ruffling her hair as it went on to explode into the wall behind her, coating it with a neon substance she didn't have time to worry about. She jumped back up and risked a glance to either side, reassuring herself that her friends were still fighting and not...She absolutely refused that train of thought as another close call with with a curse forced her to concentrate on the duel at hand.

Strengthening her grip on her wand, Hermione threw herself into releasing powerful spells with renewed vigor. She began sweating and panting slightly at the rigor of the fight. Her opponent, however, appeared to be unfazed. He cackled behind a grotesque mask, and pushed her backwards with the sheer intensity of his spell-work. Hermione gritted her teeth. Against her will, she found herself giving up ground. Finally backed up against the wall, the strange liquid from the earlier curse burning through her robes, she let loose a strangled scream as she desperately attempted to keep her adversary at bay. He slowly advanced until he struck her point-blank with a powerful disarming charm and pinned her against the wall, defenseless. That ugly mask came closer and closer to her face, and she turned her head away, refusing to look in its dark eyes. Canting his head, her foe whispered something in her ear.

"You can't stop me, Granger."

Hermione whipped her head around and her eyes widened as she looked into those of her enemy.

They were cold, unfeeling grey.

Malfoy raised his wand to her face. A blast of light erupted from the tip.

Hermione woke up.

Drawing deep, shuddering breaths, she buried her face in her pillow, letting it absorb her tears. Broken sobs escaped from her chest, and she gasped and clutched at her sheets. Hermione could not find the strength within herself to move for a long time.

When she finally did, the clock on her bedside table read nearly three o'clock in the morning.

Hermione flopped over and sighed. She was alone with her thoughts, and lately that was a combination for disaster. She thought about her episode on the stairs, and how embarrassed she'd been before she met Jasper. She had enjoyed talking with him, showing him that not everyone would perceive him a certain way before they even knew him. And then she remembered seeing Malfoy.

She huffed and rolled her eyes as she recalled his smug countenance and tall, domineering manner. He had some nerve to strut those halls as if they were his when he was only there to fulfill his disciplinary sentence.

As the rush of anger faded, Hermione felt only blank numbness. Before she could stop herself, had she even had the wherewithal to do so, she felt herself slip into her dark memories from the past year. She lay deadly still as she felt anew the gnawing hunger from their days as fugitives in the wilderness; she felt the anxiety that not knowing where their next meal would come from accompanied; she felt the crushing responsibility that came with knowing that she would be the one who had to figure it out; she felt the helplessness at not being able to fix Harry's scar-pain and depression and Ron's injury and moodiness; and finally, she felt the suffocating anger that burned inside her with the injustice of being the one constantly relied upon for everything. Their next meal, next plan, next place to camp, she had to do it all, know it all. She was tired of being the one who had to know everything. She longed for her early school days when she could learn for the sake of learning, not because her best friends' and her life depended on it.

The dark cloud these feelings brought descended lower and lower until Hermione could hardly breathe. Puffs of air came rapid and shallow from her chest. Throwing off her covers, Hermione staggered out of bed. She tried to calm herself in the little nook of her new teacher's compartments, but the walls seemed to shrink in on her and she shuddered and trembled like a cornered animal. Even though she knew, in the back of her mind, that the room was the same size it had been last night when she got there, she couldn't bear the irrational, confining feeling anymore. Hermione burst through the door and ran through the deserted halls of the castle.


	6. Chapter 6

A/N: hello again m'peeps! FFN says I have 18 followers on this story, which doesn't seem like a lot at first, but think: 18 people in a room would be pretty crowded, especially as an introvert. It's cool that eighteen different people with lives and stories and experiences are enjoying what I've come up with. Anyway, I hope I don't disappoint y'all too much! Some bad news: I didn't get much writing done on the trip, it was really packed. Good news, I have some long car rides ahead, and something about them just makes for good writing. Could be the 15 hours of isolated boredom, idk. I've decided to do a blanket disclaimer of non-ownership cause saying it over and over again seems very tedious: I would like everyone to know that I do not own Harry Potter. I've also decided that I will stick to hermiones POV. Better safe than sorry, as they say. Here we go!

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The isolated torches flickered on the walls of the castle and illuminated the portraits as Hermione rushed past them. Her feet pounded the cold floor as she raced through the corridors, much like her attempts to beat her own disoriented thoughts into submission.

She locked on to a whisper of rationality in the recesses of her mind as it told her to breathe. Making a conscious effort, she took deep, shaking breaths, though not reducing the speed of her flight. Hermione ignored the metallic taste in her mouth and the burning in her lungs and pushed herself faster. Anything to forget, to not have to see or feel, however briefly. Shutting her senses down, she let the rhythmic pounding of her feet be all that she knew.

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Some time later —a few minutes, or hours, Hermione didn't know— she was started back to reality by a strange revelation: she didn't know where she was or how she had gotten there. She, Harry, and Ron had explored the castle quite thoroughly in the six years they were there, quite often in the restricted hours, so it wasn't just the relative darkness that was disorienting her.

Hermione frowned and held the stitch in her side as she tried to catch her breath. Recovering slightly, the witch took in her surroundings. She was standing in a circular, stone room with a diameter of roughly twice her arm span. It was solid rock all around her, and she couldn't see a door. Though she couldn't see any lights, the room seemed to glow with a soft ethereal light from small pinpricks in the rounded walls. Hermione narrowed her eyes and stepped closer to the walls, focusing on one of the points from which light seemed to be emitting. Upon closer inspection, Hermione recognized the glow to be coming from identical minuscule runes, carved into the walls at intervals.

Hermione almost smiled at the familiar sensation of frustration and curiosity that rose within her at not knowing something. Despite her NEWT-level Ancient Runes class, and a nagging feeling that she recognized something about it, Hermione couldn't come up with a translation for it. Huffing, she committed the figure to memory and straightened to study the room at large.

She paced the circumference of the room, trailing her fingers on the wall to her right. At no point did she feel any break in the irregular stone pattern, signaling an exit. She didn't even remember how she had gotten in, just the frustration and anger and profound sadness she had felt before she had locked herself down. Whirling around, her eyes searched the walls fruitlessly for something she had missed, a clue she had passed over, and she caught a flash of something above her. Hermione jerked her head up and jumped back into the wall as she saw that someone else was there.

Hermione took a breath to steady her racing heartbeat as she recognized the fair skin, hazel eyes, and big, frizzy hair.

She looked at herself, and couldn't help noticing how much thinner she was than before the last year. Her hair lay tangled and damaged down her back. She was also much paler, and her eyes seemed to lack that keen shine they'd always held.

Hermione shut her eyes tight and tried to fight down the sense of loss she felt. The feeling that she didn't recognize herself anymore. This wasn't her. Hermione, she was the brightest witch of her age, the clever girl always at the top of every class, the one with all the answers, the smartest of her friends. She was the girl with the hair as uncontrollable as her thirst for knowledge, a hand well-practiced in shooting up to answer anything asked of her, feet that had worn the path to the library more often than to her own bed.

And maybe that was why she was so tired. Maybe it was knowing too much that had gotten her lost in her own head. The transition from childhood, school-girl book facts to hard, practical, wartime experience in just a few months was too much to take for a girl barely eighteen.

Eyes still shut, and drained of what little stamina she had left, Hermione slid down the wall, buried her head in her arms, and gave in to her exhaustion.

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Hermione awoke to the uncomfortable sensation of a strong light in her eyes and a crick in her neck. She shifted her head and brought her hand up to shield her eyes, groaning slightly.

"Granger."

Alarm raced through Hermione and she shot to her feet, staggering a little. She whipped out her wand, pointing it blindly in front of her. She recognized that voice.

"Honestly, Granger, you're going to put someone's eye out. Lower your wand."

Hermione squinted past the light coming from Malfoy's wand and steadied her grip on her own wand.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she spat, the tone of her voice, still scratchy with sleep, making it clear that it was not a cordial request.

"What do _I_ want? I was just talking a nice walk, enjoying the quiet of the castle, when I was so rudely interrupted by you, mumbling annoyingly in your sleep." Malfoy paused and cocked his head. "Not that I care, Granger, but why are you here, in the middle of the night, in the middle of the corridor?"

Hermione's brain snapped to the present, and her memories from last night came rushing back. She whirled around. The corridor looked the same as always, similar to the rest of the castle, with no hint of the strange chamber from last night. How did she get out? Hermione frowned deeply.

Malfoy raised his eyebrows. "Hello, Earth to Granger. I asked what you're doing here."

Hermione looked back to him with utter confusion on her face.

"I— I don't know."


	7. Chapter 7

Hey! Sorry about the late update, but that's probably how it's gonna be for a while, because I'm starting two sports and my senior year, so things are gonna get busy. Or maybe not. Whenever my inspiration strikes. Who knows; I sure don't. Anyway, another chapter. I know everyone probably gets annoyed when authors ask for reviews, but hey. In the end, they help me write, which helps you, because then you get more story. So, help yourself! Enjoy :)

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Draco looked at Hermione, completely nonplussed. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I mean what I say, Malfoy," Hermione snapped, "and I said that I don't know." Her voice shook a little.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow, perhaps not noticing the slightly unsettled look he wore, and finally extinguished his wand, darkening the corridor considerably. Hermione closed her eyes and took a deep breath, forcing herself to put the pieces back together. Her face tightened and she recognized the familiar, heavy weight take place in her stomach once again. After a few moments, she opened her eyes and looked back to Malfoy.

Malfoy almost started at the difference. While before —though he hadn't wanted to admit it, even to himself— he had been uncomfortable with the amount of shattered emotion clearly displayed in her eyes and face, he preferred that to the tired, blank emptiness there now. It was difficult to equate the vacant stare and defeated nature before him with the same girl who had believed so much in whatever cause she took upon herself, and defended it so passionately. Even her trademark frizzy mane was less domineering than usual. She seemed a different person.

" _What_ are you staring at?" Hermione asked sharply. "And for that matter, what are you even doing here?" She looked around her, as if seeing where she were clearly for the first time. "It's still dark out. Shouldn't you be in bed, or plotting some fresh torture for some first year Hufflepuffs, or something?"

Malfoy set his jaw in annoyance. Clearly, her combative attitude and incredibly annoying nosy streak had survived whatever hardships she had faced.

Malfoy crosses his arms and answered, "Very funny, Granger. Glad to know your good opinion of me hasn't changed."

"Well, some things have to remain constant in this crazy world. I think, if I didn't still hate you, I might go crazy. The shock would be too great." Hermione sighed and shrugged her shoulders in mock resignation. "I guess I have you to thank for being so predictably horrible."

"Now, now, Professor, with that kind of talk, people might think you don't want to work with me." Malfoy twisted his lips into a sickening smile. "Don't you want to foster well wishes and harmonious tendencies among your fellow instructors and set a good example for the students?"

Hermione visibly bristled at his cloying words. "I want to make several things clear, _Malfoy_ ," she spat his name like an insult. "You and I are not working together, nor will we be in the same _vicinity_ enough to set any examples. If you come anywhere near me, the only example I will be setting is how effective a well-placed curse can be toward removing unwelcome company."

Malfoy's smirk faded into a look of smug condescension. He leaned closer, ignoring the way her entire body tended defensively at his nearness. "You can't stop me, Granger."

Hermione's eyes widened and she visibly shook, whether from the memories associated with those words or from spitting anger, he couldn't tell, though he knew he'd stepped over some invisible line. Malfoy clenched his fists in apprehension, not letting his uncertainty show on his face. Hand tightening around her wand and eyes meeting his in a burning glare, Hermione surprised him by stepping even closer and lowering her voice dangerously.

"I swear to you, Malfoy, if you _ever_ speak those words to me again, I _will_ kill you. Painfully. And in such a way that if your body ever _happens_ to be recovered, your remains won't fill a matchbox."

Hermione let out a shaky breath, stepped back, and said with an almost imperceptible weary note in her voice, "Just leave me alone."

Without waiting to see Malfoy's reaction, Hermione walked away.

* * *

Hermione shut the door to her room and collapsed onto her carpet in front of the fireplace. She focused her breathing, in and out, in and out, and let the soft popping and sizzling in the grate soothe her.

She hadn't even been here twenty-four hours, and Malfoy had already made a mess of things. Why did everything have to be so complicated? Why couldn't she just have graduated Hogwarts at the end of 7 years like any normal person, gotten a job doing something she believed in, and _then_ finished out her career teaching students to love learning like she did? Her life had gotten totally out of control. Hermione didn't regret befriending Harry, certainly not. She loved him dearly, and would do everything all again. However, anyone who hung around Harry was asking for trouble. That's just how it was; it was practically part of his DNA.

And of course, through all of her adventures and escapades, she had quickly realized that normalcy was growing further and further out of reach. Then again, with her eagerness to learn, natural affection for teachers, and physically, her mountainous hair and buck teeth, maybe normalcy was never meant to be. Whatever the cause, inherent or not, she just couldn't shake the feeling that she had missed something.


	8. Chapter 8

My longest chapter so far! I should probably change one of the genres to angst. Again, sorry about the erratic updating schedule. I had (have) a ton of things going on, culminating with senior day at cheer and an Owl City concert this past Saturday. It was amazing. Anyway, two things to note. One, the best dramione fic I have ever read is called What the Room Requires by Alydia Rackham. It's here, and I've read it several times and it gets me every time. Go find it after you've read this. You'll thank me. Secondly, last chapter I asked everyone for reviews, (very nicely, I thought) and no one did! (except my real-life friend, fayeet. Hi, Fayeet! thanks!) Not even my brother, sadly enough (booooo, Josh. Yes, booo.) I would love even just a word or two of encouragement! Please? I need it, I'm going to teach a bunch of smol children things in front of competent adults and I am nervous :/. All that out of the way, here is the next chapter, little bit o' mystery in the angst, little bit o' angst in the mystery. Enjoy!

* * *

A hesitant tap on her door caused Hermione to start awake. Blinking confusedly, she answered the knock from the floor where she must have fallen asleep. "Yes?"

"I-I'm sorry to bother you, Professor Granger, but Headmistress McGonagall asked me to come and make sure that you were aware of the staff meeting taking place this morning."

Hermione made to get up but stopped abruptly, groaning at the way her muscles complained. Sleeping on the hard floor with only a thin rug to cushion her was probably not a great way to rest for her first day of teaching. Then again, it wasn't as if she'd done it on purpose. It had just happened, much like the bewildering events she'd been through earlier. The utter confusion regarding that strange room and lasting anger from her encounter with Malfoy were as bitter a blend as black coffee, and she would have definitely preferred the coffee. Especially considering the very little quality sleep she'd gotten last night. Or anytime recently, for that matter.

"Um, Professor? Are you...all right in there?"

Hermione cursed her wandering mind and pushed aside her body's complaints. Getting up and opening the door, she saw a girl, not much younger than herself, shifting on her feet uncomfortably. Attempting a warm smile, Hermione brushed her unruly hair back nervously. "Sorry about that, I-um-never mind. What were you saying about the Headmistress, Miss...?"

"Jade, Professor. And she asked me to remind you of the staff meeting today. She said she would have let you sleep if it were the normal Monday meeting, but since it's the first of the year, she thought you should be there."

Hermione nodded. "When is this meeting? What time is it now?" She was about to turn around to check the clock, when the awkward look on Jade's face made her stop. "What?" Hermione asked apprehensively.

"It starts in two minutes."

"Two minutes?"

"Yes, Professor."

Hermione shut her eyes and let her head fall against the door frame with a loud _thunk_. Of course, why should anything be easy her first day? Or ever, for that matter. Letting out a deep sigh, she turned back to Jade and said, "Where is it being held? The teacher's lounge?"

Jade nodded, still managing to look equal parts embarrassed and discomfited. And now that Hermione was paying attention, rather downcast as well.

"Well, thank you for letting me know. I'll be up as soon as possible." Looking thoroughly pleased to have been dismissed, Jade walked swiftly through the classroom adjoining Hermione's rooms and out into the corridor.

Shutting the door behind Jade and internally dismissing her odd behavior, Hermione took one second to let out an afflicted groan before rushing at top speed to get ready. At least, as ready as she could get with her remaining minute and a half. As she closed her classroom door behind her and took off at an ungainly run toward the lounge, she could only think of how much she wished she'd been born a cat.

* * *

Hermione paused to regain her breath after her rapid trek through the castle, and knocked softly before opening the staffroom door. Upon walking inside, she fought to control her embarrassed blush as a dozen pairs of curious eyes turned to stare at her.

McGonagall removed her spectacles and smiled at Hermione graciously. "Miss Granger, good morning. I'm sorry about the rather late notice about today, I didn't think about you not knowing—well, anything. We'll have to schedule a proper teacher's orientation for someday this week."

Hermione nodded, folding her arms defensively and desperately trying to keep her gaze from falling to the floor. "Yes, Headmistress."

"Well, take a seat and a biscuit and we'll get started."

Quickly scanning the room for an empty chair, she gave a small smile in return to Pomona Sprout and Filius Flitwick, who had both waved at her cheerily. The warm feeling their greetings gave her was eradicated quite soon, as her eyes simultaneously found Malfoy and the only empty chair left, situated in the space directly across from him and in full view of his condescending expression.

Hermione sat down with a slight huff and glared ferociously at Malfoy, making it very clear that it was not her choice that she was even in the same room as him. Madam Pomfrey, seated to her right, passed the biscuit tin over. Looking inside, Hermione saw only oatmeal raisin lying dejectedly among some crumbs. Undoubtedly, those crumbs were all that remained of other more delicious, but unfortunately, long since eaten, options. Somehow, that just summed up her previous day and night perfectly.

She let the tin drop to the table loudly, and McGonagall looked at her reproachfully. Malfoy didn't attempt to dampen the smirk that spread across his face at her reprimand. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him in a silent warning and then turned, schooling her face into a picture of perfect innocence, and smiled delicately at the headmistress.

McGonagall took that as her cue to begin. "Ahem," she started rather awkwardly, "well, another year is upon us. I don't have to remind you all what a miracle it is that we are all sitting here today, much as some among us have for many, many years, and others before us, and still others before them.

"Inevitably, if there be any institution that strives to do good for all those that pass through its doors, and even to those beyond its gates, as Hogwarts does, those that crave chaos and disunity will attempt to disrupt and destroy said institution; thus rendering its fulfillment of such noble goals ineffective and powerless. We have experienced this firsthand. If we are to continue to instill not only knowledge, but also intelligence; compassion, in addition to common courtesy; and joy, to support happiness in more difficult times, then we must fight every day to keep the darkness at bay. Some days will hold a harder fight than others. These past few years have held the most difficult fight of our lives. Some fought with all they had. I'd like for us to take a minute now to remember those dear ones we have lost, fighting for the light."

Hermione felt her throat constrict and the ever-present weight in her middle grow heavier. She closed her eyes to keep tears from falling. They had certainly fought. And they had won. But they had lost so much; too much. What was victory worth if those for whom you paid such a dear price had then paid the ultimate price themselves? They had lost friends, and they had lost family. Everyone had lost parts of themselves, and Hermione didn't feel as if she would ever get hers back. All she could feel was the emptiness in her heart where her loved ones should be, a vague sense of not being present in her own body, and stabbing guilt when she thought of everyone who should be here instead of her.

Little Teddy needed his parents, dear Professor Lupin and Tonks. George was completely lost without his other half, Fred. And Harry. Poor, dear Harry. He had lost so much, Hermione was surprised that he was still upright. Just recently, little Dobby, a free elf. Dumbledore, his mentor and friend. Even Severus Snape, an unexpected and solitary link to Harry's mother, was gone before they could even discuss her blazing temper or her enduring patience, or how the same light that shone in her emerald eyes when she smiled still shone in Harry's today.

It just wasn't fair. Was nothing ever going to be? And those oft-repeated thoughts led Hermione to another emotion that surprised her with the intensity of its impact. She nearly groaned at the twisting, gnawing feeling of fury that burned in her gut like a fiery snake. Wrenching her eyes open, she fixed her gaze on Malfoy, who was surveying the various sniveling noses and watery eyes around them with open disdain. When his cold, hard eyes met hers, she nearly winced at how that snake in her gut raged and coiled into a tighter knot. Hermione didn't break eye contact, and she searched his face so earnestly that she thought she saw a hint of apprehension fill his expression as he leaned back imperceptibly. A few moments of intense scrutiny later, an air of finality came over her. Seemingly having come to some conclusion, Hermione pushed her chair back and stood up, still holding Malfoy's gaze in her own.

With all the eyes in the room on her, Hermione asked him a simple question.

"Do you regret any of it?"

Malfoy sat stonily and refused to answer, instead crossing his arms defensively and looking at the table.

A round tear fell from Hermione's emotion-filled eyes, and she breathed out shakily. "I thought so."

Hermione brushed away the rest of her tears and swallowed hard. She left the room, the sound of the door shutting after her barely cutting through the deafening silence she left in her wake.


	9. Chapter 9

Hey, y'all, sorry it's a little late. Review!

* * *

The library was always a place of comfort to Hermione. Whenever she had a problem during her school days, which was quite often, or when she felt confused or angry or sad, it was a constant solution. Was there a Charms concept she didn't understand? Well, there was an entire section just asking to be read, to help her make sense of even the most minute details of magical theory. Was Ron being lazy, asking to copy off her when she had done all the hard work? Or was he being tactless and bickering with her over things she was sensitive about? The library offered a refuge. He wouldn't follow her in there if he could help it; it smelled too much like productiveness, and Madam Pince was not an experience for the faint of heart. Just getting there from all the way across the castle was a good way to let off steam, and finding the perfect book to lose herself in when she did was the best way to forget. She could stay there for hours in a little window nook, surrounded by her work. Books were safe. They were logical. A book wouldn't call you names, or throw a spell at you. Instead, it would offer you all the help you wanted. All you had to do was open the cover.

For Hermione, the library represented security. So that was where she found herself after the disastrous staff meeting. Tucked away behind the curtains of a window nook deep in the library's corner, Hermione leaned her forehead against the glass. She gazed out onto the grounds, not really seeing. Rather, she let the haze of golden sunlight reflecting off the lake and the familiar, comforting scent of old parchment combine and lull her into a numbing daze.

Or she would have, had she not been interrupted by her curtain being ripped open and a small robed figure jumping up onto her seat, practically landing in her lap. Too stunned to voice a coherent sentence, Hermione merely let out an indignant "Merlin!" and started so hard that the intruder, thoroughly surprised himself, fell to the floor in a heap.

"Ow," the pile of robes on the floor groaned. Hermione quickly tucked away her wand, having whipped it out on the war-conditioned reflex that, chances were, a surprise would not be in your favor. Pressing her hand to her chest and breathing deeply to slow her racing heartbeat, she asked the bundle, "Are you okay? You really should check enclosed spaces for other people before you jump right in." A note of chastisement laced her voice.

"I'm so sorry, Professor!"

Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise as Jasper emerged from the pile on the floor and looked up at her with eyes widened in embarrassment. "I didn't think that there would be anyone here, with it being breakfast still." He rubbed a bruised elbow ruefully. "If I'd known, I wouldn't have bothered you." Jasper's voice lowered in shame, and Hermione detected a tinge of hurt, as well.

Hermione sighed. If she was going to be Gryffindor Head of House as well as a professor, she might as well start now with Jasper. True, he wasn't a member of her house, but he needed someone to make sure he was all right, and she wasn't at all sure he would get that with the other students. Slytherins weren't known for their concern for others, and the inter-house tension would be near breaking point. She didn't even know who was Slytherin Head of House. She hoped to high heaven that it wasn't Malfoy. Surely McGonagall had more sense than that. The other teachers had a lot on their plates with picking up the extra classes. Hadn't McGonagall said something yesterday about a general unwillingness to take up posts? Had it really only been yesterday that she had agreed to this whole mess? It seemed like an age.

Jasper groaned a little standing up, derailing her train of thought. She frowned and asked, "Why aren't you at breakfast? It's the first day of school, and you'll need your strength. Besides, you'll miss the post, and what if there's something for you?"

Jasper's face twisted into a curious mix of hurt and defiance. "I don't think there'll be anything for me, Professor." Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Why is that?" His voice wavered as he said, "Because my family doesn't want me anymore."

Hermione felt a horrible twist in her chest and she rushed to comfort the near-crying boy. "I'm sure that's not true! Your family loves you! Why on earth wouldn't they?" she patted the seat next to her and conjured a tissue box as Jasper jumped onto the seat and sniffled.

"Because I'm Slytherin! I'm part of the bad house! Y-Y-You-Know-Who was from there, and now everyone is going to hate me, too." He swiped viciously at his cheek and avoided Hermione's gaze.

Hermione tried to reason with him. "But you can't have heard from them already, the Sorting was only last night and you weren't there for the post this morning."

Jasper slumped miserably. "I have a sister here. She's in Ravenclaw. Last night she told me that sh-she didn't want people to be mean to her for having a brother in Slytherin. So I told her that I had met you, _The_ Hermione Granger, and that you thought it wasn't such a bad thing." Hermione smiled gently at him. She hated using her name to throw her weight around, but if any cause were worthy, it was this one. "I meant it, Jasper. Truly." Jasper finally met her eyes with his own, which were bright with tears. "Jade, my sister, got mad and said that because I'm a part of the evil house, now I'm your enemy and my f-family's enemy." Getting this out, Jasper burst into full on tears and leaned into Hermione's open arms.

Comprehension dawned on Hermione as she tried to soothe the disconsolate boy. Jade was the girl McGonagall had sent to bring her to the meeting. No wonder she had seemed so uncomfortable; she was face-to-face with an element of her argument with her brother the previous night. Hermione hurt for Jasper. He had grown up with a dark wizard reigning, and then faced moving away from his family to a boarding school. A school for magic, no less. And then he was told by his own sister that he had become what everyone feared, through a sorting he couldn't control? Hermione couldn't imagine how terrifying that would be. She was no stranger to loneliness, nor was she unfamiliar with being an outcast, but the double injustice of his situation was both infuriating and depressing.

Hermione let Jasper give vent to his tangled emotions until his sobs began to subside. With one last pat on the back, she pulled away so she could look him in the eye.

"Jasper, I want you to look at me, and I want you to listen," Hermione said seriously. Jasper nodded, and with a few suppressed hiccups and one solid blow into a tissue later, he turned to face her, his eyes red-rimmed and watery.

"It's okay to be sad. It's okay to be hurt. It's okay to be angry. People are going to let you down. Your family, your friends, and your professors will all disappoint you. It's just a part of life."

Jasper frowned, clearly not seeing how this was supposed to cheer him up.

Hermione let out a small smile. "The important thing to remember is that what those people think about you, what they say about you, does not matter."

Jasper frowned deeper and said, "You're saying I shouldn't listen to professors?"

Hermione looked scandalized and shook her head. "Of course not! What I'm saying is that their opinions don't have to define who you are." Seeing him look more confused than ever, she decided to give an example. "Take me, for instance. The first two months I ever had here, everyone disliked me. They thought I was bossy and stuck-up, and they couldn't be bothered with me except to make fun of my hair or the way I answered questions."

"But everyone seems to like you now."

"That's because I stayed true to who I was, and it turned out that I was just the person they needed. The real me; not the me I changed because they hurt me, or the me I became when I wanted to fit in. What I'm trying to say is that you are different, Jasper."

Jasper slouched. "Gee, thanks."

Rolling her eyes, Hermione continued, "That's a good thing. Yesterday, you stopped on the stairs to see if I, a stranger, was all right. Not everyone would do that." Seeing Jasper scoff lightly, she interjected, "I'm serious! Anyone who sees the real you won't care whether or not you prize ambition over courage, or loyalty over creativity."

Seeing him raise his eyebrows in apparent doubt, Hermione sighed. "Just trust me. You'll find your place soon. And, if you're like me, it might not be quite the way you expect."

Jasper gave a hint of a smile in response, and Hermione took that as her cue to move on. "Come on, you need to get your schedule. They'll have already handed them out at breakfast, so I'll walk you to the Headmistress's office."

Jasper hopped off the window seat and faced Hermione. He cleared his throat and looked at the ground. "I, uh…thanks, Professor."

Hermione let a smile through and nudged him forward with her elbow. "Let's get moving. What do you think your first class will be?" At that, anticipation flooded his face, and he chattered away about what he'd read in his Transfiguration text and how he'd chosen between a pewter or copper cauldron.

Hermione listened to him with increasing nostalgia, and let herself be carried back into her memories of new robes and fresh books and her first trip into the magical world. She tried not to mourn, but instead to remember.


	10. Chapter 10

Hermione and Jasper approached the stone gargoyle guarding the Headmistress's office and stood expectantly in front of the stone guardian. After about a minute of waiting to be noticed, Hermione cleared her throat to get its attention. It blinked slowly and made a big show of yawning as if it had been asleep, stretching, cracking its stone knuckles, which Hermione hadn't even thought was possible, and generally ignoring its duty of reporting visitors to the Head in the chambers behind it, all while gazing lazily at the visitors with an impertinent grin on its face.

Rolling her eyes, the newly-minted professor stepped forward and cleared her throat again. The gargoyle raised its eyebrows in feigned surprise at her approach. "Hmm?"

Hermione pasted on a polite smile. "We're here to see the Headmistress," she announced. She thought that was rather obvious, considering they were standing outside McGonagall's door and only she knew the password.

"A noble aspiration," the nuisance acknowledged. They waited. Hermione counted thirty seconds before she let out a slight huff and stepped closer.

"Would you be so kind as to let the Headmistress know that we would like to speak with her?" Hermione let a trace of annoyance into her voice and lifted an eyebrow ever-so-slightly.

"Ah, well, why didn't you tell me? I'll let her know _right_ away." The guardian widened its mischievous grin and mock-bowed as much as any stone statue could.

Taking a deep breath for patience, Hermione leveled her gaze at it, gave it her most stern war-time glare, and twiddled her wand between her fingers. The gargoyle gulped and gave a greasy smile. "The Headmistress will see you. Right this way. Have a _great_ visit!"

Ignoring the clear sarcasm in its voice, Hermione directed Jasper up the steps that appeared as the unaccommodating statue finally moved aside.

As they stood on the upward-spiraling stone, Hermione felt a twinge of doubt lace the air. Students seldom saw the inside of the most important office in Hogwarts unless they had done something either extremely reprehensible or remarkably upstanding. She recalled how intimidating a figure McGonagall had struck on her first night, and Jasper hadn't had the benefit of being her House responsibility, student, or war compatriot for seven years. She turned to the young Slytherin beside her. "Did you know that Headmistress McGonagall can turn into a cat?"

Jasper let out a nervous giggle. "Really?"

"Yeah, you can tell it's her because she has markings from her glasses on her face. She likes to spy on her classes before they start, so if you see her in your class, now you have a head's up," Hermione whispered conspiratorially. A small grin twisted its way onto his face and the tension in the air eased slightly. His smile tightened a little when the stairs ground to a halt, but he squared his shoulders and walked in ahead of Hermione. She followed after and greeted her old professor.

"Hello, Headmistress. I kept Jasper for a bit at the end of breakfast-"Jasper shot her a grateful look, "-and he missed his class schedule. Could we get his copy, please?"

McGonagall nodded briskly and twitched her wand, and a paper flew out of a nearby cabinet. She caught it, gave it a cursory glance, and handed it to Jasper. "Your first class starts in twenty minutes, Mr. Thompson. The castle can be confusing, especially on your first day, so I would go now." Jasper nodded, muttered thanks, and left the office with a small smile to Hermione.

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the Headmistress. "You know, your guardian has quite the self-important attitude." McGonagall huffed and came as close to rolling her eyes as someone with her degree of sternness would.

"Yes, I am aware of that. During the battle, he was cursed to pieces, and he was not returned to his whole state for quite some time. Priorities, you know. He carries a rather large grudge and likes to make sure that getting in here is as difficult as possible. I would replace him, but I've just been...preoccupied with other things." She fell silent, and quiet took the room as the events of earlier that day filled the space between the two women.

Hermione exhaled deeply and met McGonagall's concerned gaze. "Professor, I'm sorry for my outburst this morning. It's just...I mean, he was just sitting there, bold as anything, as if he weren't at fault for all this. You saw him; there wasn't a modicum of remorse on his face when I asked him if he regretted it. I'm just shocked anew every time I see him that he can even bear to look in the mirror with all that he's done, let alone face all of us, those left with the brunt of destruction from his choices, and not feel _anything_."

Making a sympathetic face, McGonagall folded her hands upon her desk and leaned forward. "If I may, Hermione, I'd like to speak a word in his defense." At the somewhat betrayed look on her former pupil's face, she interjected, "I'm certainly not going to excuse what he did, or preach a grand request of forgiveness and peacemaking, and I am certainly just as justified in hating him as you are." Hermione sat back in her chair, permitting the defense, but her face closed off and her arms folded defensively. McGonagall continued, "However, to say that this was all his fault is not accurate. Intelligent as young Mr. Malfoy is, I highly doubt that, at the tender age of 16, he would have been willing or able to bring about such destruction as we have witnessed. Indeed, had it not been for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the most dubious exploits he accomplished would have been schoolyard bullying, and we would have lived our lives as tranquilly as the magical community is able.

"However, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named did exist. He turned a great many to his side through his ideals, tuned as they were to the fears of the age, and he won others through more aggressive means. I am not convinced that Mr. Malfoy is as unaffected as you say, or as he acts. He did as he did because of fear, not for loyalty or love; and fear, though a powerful motivator in the moment, once gone, does not leave behind the strong belief of justification that the other, more pure motivations do. You say he lives without remorse, that he looks in the mirror and is fine with what he sees. But do not underestimate the importance and stubborn strength of self-preservation in his actions. We all of us, however broken we may be, feel the need to appear whole, and Mr. Malfoy is no exception. Perhaps, when he sees himself in the mirror, his reflection seems just as shattered to him as yours does to you?"

* * *

Sorry it's a little short and a lot late.


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